To Remove the Curse
by Siriusgirl1
Summary: When they first saw her, she bore a strong resemblance to the Evenstar of the Eldar. As time healed her wounds and spirit, she seemed to resemble the beauty of one of old. But none knew who she was, or why the Wise glimpsed her holding a jewel of legend.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

This is based on an idea that has been...bothering me for quite some time. I've made many changes to the idea, but, overall, it's remained the same as it was originally. It mainly concerns the House of Elrond for the first part of the fic, and will then concern a house of old - a house which had seemingly died out with the death of its remaining member, at the hand of Sauron in the Second Age.

Ahem, well, that's enough information there. I hope things become much clearer as time goes on.

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to the wonderful author, Mr. JRR Tolkien. Nothing belongs to me, except for the handful of original characters.

* * *

**Of Ill-omens and Confusing Visions**

Glorfindel stared at his friend, a surprised expression on his face as he watched him. It was not hard for anyone to see that the Elf-lord was troubled.

"Elrond, _sit_ down," commanded Glorfindel, having had enough of his friend's pacing. "_Now.__"_

"You are in my office, Glorfindel –I will choose to do whatever I wish in here," retorted the Elf-lord, somewhat sullenly, before he resumed his anxious pacing.

"For the love of-" Glorfindel shook his head in exasperation. "Very well then. Will you at least care to share what it is that has you so…ruffled?"

"Ruffled?" echoed Elrond, stopping to glance at his friend with his eyebrows raised. Glorfindel shrugged. With a sigh, Elrond moved towards his desk, sitting down like he had been told to.

"That's better," muttered Glorfindel, absently checking the polished floor, where the Elf-lord had been pacing up and down, to see if it had been completely worn away.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the golden-haired Elf's behaviour (Elf-lords didn't _do_ such…juvenile things after all. That was what _Men_ were famous for); Elrond leaned back in his chair.

"I...saw something..."

Glorfindel stared at the dark-haired Elf-lord, waiting for him to continue. He was answered with more silence.

"You _saw_ something...?" Elrond nodded, wearily. "Oh, that's good," said Glorfindel, casually. "Am I to understand that the next time you _hear_ something, you will lapse into a coma or something?"

Elrond scowled.

"A...vision, Glorfindel, I saw a _vision_," he said. _That_ caught the Balrog-slayer's attention.

"A vision?" he questioned, as he sat straighter in his chair.

"Well, a...vision of sorts..." muttered Elrond.

"Did it concern anyone here at Imladris?" The golden-haired Elf was troubled to see Elrond practically sink further into the chair. "Elrond?"

"I am not sure, Glorfindel..." he said, quietly. "It could have been...but then...there was something different about her. If it _was_ her, then I would have been able to tell...but I knew that there was something not quite right...and then, of course, there was the---"

"-Just hold on for a moment, Elrond," interrupted Glorfindel, as he stood up and headed towards the door.

"What-?"

"-You look like you could do with some nice, hot tea," was his friend's answer, before he disappeared from sight. Elrond stared after him for a moment, before turning his attention to one of the many windows in the room. The world outside seemed...as normal as usual, without even a hint of the foreboding feeling he had had in his gut when he had _seen_..._it_.

He had spent the whole morning thinking about it, trying to decipher its meaning, but had had no success whatsoever.

"Ai," he said, softly, "I pray that it was not a fell omen..."

When Glorfindel returned, a while later, with freshly brewed tea, Elrond was in a somewhat calmer mood, gratefully accepting the cup of tea his friend poured out for him.

Picking up the second cup, Glorfindel could not help but smile.

"The 2nd patrol will be returning soon," he commented, offhandedly. "Ai, the peace we at Imladris have enjoyed over the last month will be no more."

Elrond smirked.

"It pleases me, to know that the Elves of Imladris fear my sons."

"Fear your sons? Nay, Peredhel, we fear their _actions_, especially when they are bored." A comfortable silence descended amongst the two friends, as they quietly sipped their tea.

Having almost finished half the tea in his cup, Elrond placed it back on the table in front of him, releasing a heavy sigh as he did so.

The sigh did not go unnoticed to the golden-haired Elf.

"What is it, Elrond?" He observed the dark-haired Elf carefully. "Is it the...vision?"

Elrond nodded.

"Yes," he said. "And no; I sense the presence of evil in the air...and I am afraid that it is getting stronger as every month goes by." Grey eyes narrowed. "The light of Eärendil has been dim of late, and the winds whisper words of warning, of the creatures of Sauron and, recently, of Men."

"Men?" echoed Glorfindel, tilting his head to a side. "The creatures of Sauron, I can understand; for it seems that they are multiplying, even as we kill them." He paused. "But...Men?"

Elrond nodded.

"Aye, Men." His face darkened as his mind unwillingly recalled the image of the elder son of Elendil, as he held a golden ring to him with a strange gleam in his eyes.

"The warnings cannot concern the line of Isildur, for you know better than I do that his heir will never succumb to such...greed," commented Glorfindel, shrewdly guessing his friend's thoughts.

"One can never be sure," replied Elrond, uncertainly. "He has been away for many years now, travelling with those of his kind and learning the ways of the Rangers."

"Have the Rangers ever been easily corrupted?" Glorfindel shook his head. "The Rangers of the North are a sturdy lot of Men, Elrond. Their hearts are hard, and their minds will not easily be swayed. Fear not for Isildur's heir." A smirk formed on his lips. "Besides, if you had not been so...direct with him, regarding his love for the fair Undomiel, perhaps he would still be with us?"

Elrond scowled across the table.

"It is no laughing matter, Glorfindel," he said, even as his mind turned back to the vision he had had. Glorfindel sobered.

"...I would like to know about this vision, Elrond," he said.

The Half-Elven lord nodded, staring distantly at his cup of tea as he started to speak.

"I saw events that date back to the very early history of our people; the coming of the Elves to Middle-Earth," he said, his voice low. "Thankfully, I did not 'see' the Kinslaying, and I can only guess that _that_ is a good sign." He paused. "I saw Fëanor, the Silmarils and the sons of Fëanor. I...saw Morgoth too –or at least, one who I assume was Morgoth. With him was his ever-faithful Maia, Sauron."

Glorfindel watched as his friend took a deep breath, and didn't interrupt him.

"There was a...small group of Elves, and I am guessing that they were of the Sindar. They seemed to be fleeing some dark force." There was a pained expression on Elrond's face as he continued to recall what he had seen in his vision. "There were dead Elves, scattered everywhere and...and then I saw Maglor..." There was an ever so slight tremor in the Elf's deep voice as he mentioned the name of second son of Fëanor.

"...And?" prodded Glorfindel, gently.

"Wild Men. Nay, I am sure it was the Haradrim...although they appeared to be Easterlings at first..." There was a troubled look on the Elf-lord's face. "There were dead Elves again, a few, but...far too many all the same. I saw you too..."

"Me?"

Elrond nodded.

"You were furious, for some reason." Elrond paused once more. "Perhaps it was because of the slain Elves...?" He shook his head. "That is a mere speculation..."

"Did it end there?" questioned Glorfindel. Elrond shook his head, appearing more troubled than he had before.

"There was an Elf, Glorfindel...she...she..." he swallowed. "I could not see her clearly, but...I remember thinking she was Arwen."

Glorfindel was quiet for a moment.

"What happened to her...?"

"She was...being beaten by the Men. Mayhap they were slave traders? Or just...normal Wild Men...? I could not tell." Elrond sighed, his grey eyes troubled as they looked to his friend. "I saw her with a Silmaril, Glorfindel."

That elicited a gasp from his friend.

"What?" he asked, sharply. "But...there are none left here in Middle-Earth. The one surviving Silmaril is with Eärendil and Elwing. You know this to be true."

Elrond nodded.

"Aye, but we know not the fate of the two that were thrown into fire and water, respectively..."

It was Glorfindel's turn to look troubled.

"This worries me, Elrond," he said, after a while. "We have already been through enough horrors because of the Silmarils. How much _more_ are we supposed to endure?"

"I know not what the meaning of that vision was, Glorfindel, and that is strange...for my visions are usually clear to me..." Elrond picked up his cup of tea once again. "Although it did seem as though it was a...portent of some sort."

"A portent of evil?"

"The Elf that I saw...I do not see any reason for her to be associated with the Silmaril. I have not even _seen_ her likeliness here in Middle-Earth, save for in Arwen..."

"What are you saying?" asked Glorfindel, catching on. Elrond shook his head.

"I do not know..." he said. "I mean, well, I could not see her clearly, but...she seemed to be so much like Arwen, and yet so much _unlike_ her at the same time..."

"Mellon-nin, you are not making much sense," commented Glorfindel.

"I know..." grumbled Elrond, as his frown deepened. "I am at a total...loss as to the meaning of what I saw. And I like it not. Having to deal with Sauron and the current rise of Evil _here_ is bad enough...I do not wish to have to add troubles with the Silmaril and..._Morgoth_ to it all."

Glorfindel nodded, a grimace forming on his face.

"For, this time, I doubt if the Valar will send out a force to help us, like they did before..." He sighed, as memories of his...past life resurfaced in his head. He had long since learned to stop blocking them, as they only worsened when he did so.

Elrond suddenly leant forward in his seat, his face pale as he clutched lightly at his chest.

"Elrond?" Glorfindel watched, concerned, as the dark-haired Elf said nothing, although he noticed a flash of pain passing quickly across his face. "Peredhel, what is it?" Glorfindel, by this time, was out of his seat and was kneeling by his friend's chair.

It took the dark-haired Elf a few moments, but soon he had recovered from whatever it was that had...pained him.

Glorfindel watched as his friend slumped back into his chair, letting out of soft sigh as he did so.

"You said the 2nd Patrol is to return today?"

"Yes," answered Glorfindel. "Sometime today." Elrond nodded.

"How many Elves do you think you can spare, on the spur of the moment?" Glorfindel's brows furrowed in thought.

"A little more than a dozen," he said, after a while. "For the rest are with the 3rd and 4th patrols that are to set out once the 2nd patrol returns."

Elrond nodded.

"Good. If worse comes to worse, I would like you to prepare the Elves, and inform them of the route the 2nd patrol was supposed to take."

"Mellon-nin, why?" Elrond turned his troubled grey eyes to his friend once more.

"I fear...that things have gone awry with the 2nd patrol," he said, quietly. "I know not _what_, but...I...feel it." Glorfindel, having known the Elf-lord for many a century, nodded, even as he tied Elrond's strange behaviour with this 'feeling'.

If Elrond Peredhel felt that something was not right, something was _not_ right.

"Very well," he said, as he stood up. "But let us first see what condition the 2nd patrol returns in."

"Aye, that would be best."

* * *

**Meanwhile:**

"How is she?" questioned Elladan, quietly, as he slowed his horse down so that it cantered alongside his brother's chestnut stallion. Deep blue eyes quickly ran over the half-slumped figure of the Elf whom Elrohir had carefully settled in front of him.

"Not good," was his terse reply. "I fear that she is in shock now. We must get her back to Imladris before the shock wears off, or she will feel the rush of pain from everything she has suffered."

"And it will send her unconscious..." finished Elladan, gravely. He didn't need his brother to tell him that, should the Elf fall unconscious, there was a great chance that she would not _regain_ consciousness again. "I cannot imagine what she must have had to go through..." he murmured, as he reached out and brushed a few strands of her blood-splattered black hair from her face.

Elrohir nodded, even as he looked down at the Elf.

"Does she not...remind you of someone?" he questioned, after a while. Elladan shot his brother a startled look, emotion clouding his deep blue eyes, before he shook his head.

Elrohir sent his brother a shrewd look. "She did not remind you of our beloved sister, Elladan? Did you not think that it was Arwen, who the Men were beating?"

Elladan turned his attention ahead of him, an impassive expression on his face for a moment, before he sighed heavily.

"Aye," he admitted. "I did think that she...was Arwen." He glanced briefly at Elf. "Does she not look somewhat like her?"

Elrohir nodded.

"I agree, but there is something different about her..." He shook his head. "And she has grey eyes." He looked his brother square in the eye. "She is _not_ Arwen Undomiel, gwador-nin. Our sister is safe in Lothloríen as we speak."

Elladan nodded, a relieved expression flashing across his face.

"Aye, that is a relief."

Whatever Elrohir had been about to say was cut off when the Elf in front of him let out a soft, pain-filled moan. Pulling lightly yet insistently on his reins, he pulled his horse to a stop as he half turned the Elf-maiden to him.

"What is it, my lady?" he questioned, not knowing what else he was to call her. "Are you alright?" Both he and Elladan could see that the Elf was disoriented, and it took a few long, almost agonizingly long moments for her grey eyes to focus.

"W...where am...I?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. She licked her lips and winced as she felt the cracks on them.

Elladan nodded gratefully at the brown-haired Elf as he handed him the water-skin. Moving his stallion closer to his brother's, he uncapped the skin and held it towards the dark-haired Elf's lips. Elrohir cupped a hand underneath her chin as his brother tilted the water skin, enabling the Elf to have the water she so desperately wanted.

"Easy there..." murmured Elladan, making sure to give her small sips, in case her stomach was not able to handle it.

The Elf had not taken more than three sips when she started coughing. Elladan hurriedly removed the water-skin from her lips, as Elrohir began to lightly hit her back. With a panicked expression on her face, the Elf brought an unsteady hand to her mouth as she coughed.

The remaining Elves from the 2nd patrol watched, concerned, as she continued to cough. Thankfully, she stopped after a while, but Elladan and Elrohir exchanged worried glances. Her coughs had sounded...thick to their ears. And when a cough sounded thick, it was usually because something _else_ was being coughed out.

Gently removing her hand away from the Elf's mouth, Elrohir glanced at it and, to his dismay, found his fears justified.

She had coughed out blood.

Elladan knew what was wrong the moment he saw the dismayed expression on his brother's face.

"Lord Elladan, what is it? What is wrong with her?" asked another light-haired Elf, seeing the brothers' expressions.

"She is bleeding internally," said Elrohir, darkly, answering the question for his brother. The Elves around them winced as they glanced at the dark-haired Elf-maiden.

"Ai," whispered one, "how could they be so cruel to one of the Eldar? Nay, how could they be so cruel to a _maid__en_?"

Elrohir said nothing.

"'Rohir, we must ride on," said Elladan, suddenly, as the Elf slumped back onto his brother's chest. "We need to get her to Adar at once. Who knows what _else_ she suffers from?" His brother nodded, as did the rest of the Elves, as they gently nudged their horses into a slightly fast-paced canter once more.

Elrohir spared the Elf wrapped up in his cloak one last, concerned glance.

_I hope she will make it to Imladris, without surrendering to the darkness._ _Adar, we really need your help this time..._

* * *

**A/N**

There you have it. That was the...prologue of sorts. I know that things probably seem confusing at this point in time, but it'll get clearer as times goes on. Honest!

Well, that's it from me for now.

See ya soon!

Siriusgirl1


	2. What does this mean?

**A/N**

Wow! I didn't think that many people would like this!! Hehe, thanks everyone for your reviews - I hope I replied to every one of them. Hmm...here's chapter one...it's a bit longer than the last one, but I didn't want to end it any earlier, so...yeah. Hope it doesn't put anyone off, with the length!

Well, that's about it from me.

**Disclaimer: **It's all JRR Tolkien's. Never said it was mine.

**

* * *

****Chapter One: ****What does this mean?**

"What is it that troubles you?" The golden-haired Elf whirled around in a blur of gold and white, her light blue eyes widened as she was caught unaware. She relaxed when her gaze fell on her silver-haired husband, who had a somewhat surprised expression on his face.

"My lord, we are far too old to be sneaking around, trying to startle each other," she commented, before turning back to the stone, water-filled basin that she had been staring at.

"Sneaking around?" Celeborn shook his head. "Something must trouble you indeed for you to not hear my approach." He stepped forward so that he was standing beside his golden-haired wife. "Tell me, Galadríel, what is it that troubles you?"

The golden-haired Elf bowed her head slightly, gathering her thoughts.

"'Tis nothing, my lord," she said, after a while. She looked up as a hand was placed on her arm, and met the concerned gaze of her husband.

"You have not been yourself for a few days now, my dear lady," said Celeborn, softly. "And I am not the only one who seems to have noticed this." He smiled as Galadríel shot him a questioning glance. "Your female attendants have noticed that something is amiss...much like your granddaughter has."

Galadríel could not help but smile.

"Ah," she said. "I should have done better then, to hide my anxiety." The smile disappeared from Celeborn's face, to be replaced with a serious expression.

"Will you not tell me what it is that troubles you, Galadríel?"

"You know that I will, Celeborn," said Galadríel, quietly. "But...I cannot fathom the _meaning_ of...what it is that I saw."

Celeborn frowned. It was unusual for the Lady Galadríel of the Golden Wood to _not_ be able to decipher the meaning of one of her visions.

"Mayhap it was not a vision, in that case...?" he suggested. Galadríel shook her head.

"Nay," she whispered. "It..._felt_ too real..._all_ too real..." She closed her eyes as she remembered the feeling of dread that had arisen in her, as she watched certain...scenes unfold.

Celeborn squeezed her hand gently.

"You need not push yourself, to tell me," he said, softly. "And I will not force you to do it. But, whenever you feel...ready to talk about, please, _do_ share it with me."

Galadríel shot her husband an affectionate look as she listened to him, now remembering why she had refused her father's offer to finally leave Middle-Earth, when the host from Valinor had arrived to take care of Morgoth. She would not have had the love of this wonderful Elf-lord if she had left.

"Thank you," she whispered, turning back to the basin as her husband left the glade. Once more, as she peered into the water, the image of the dark-haired Elf-maiden appeared amongst the ripples of the water.

She turned her head slightly, but Galadríel still could not see her face. But she could not deny the fact that she had first thought that the Elf-maiden was her granddaughter. The next image that she saw lit up the whole clearing, casting an eerie bright light over the golden-haired Elf's troubled face.

Galadríel knew what the gleaming jewel was, the moment her eyes had rested on it, for she remembered, all too well, the beauty of the Silmarils of Fëanor.

When the image shifted, the light went with it, and an almost...wary expression appeared on the Elf's face as she stared into the bright eyes of the dark-haired Noldor Prince. The one Elf who, she supposed, the Eldar in Middle-Earth should _thank_, for bringing them to the land, as opposed to remaining in Valinor.

_"_Ai, Fëanáro," she whispered. "Must you trouble the Eldar once again, with your jewels? Have you not caused us enough trouble as it is...?"

* * *

**Meanwhile, in Imladris:**

Glorfindel leaned back in the chair, a frown on his face as he did so. His eyes had a somewhat distant look to them, as he stared ahead of him.

"-but they were not...are you even _listening_ to me?" The dark-haired Elf seated before him stopped, raising his eyebrows as he did so. Glorfindel nodded.

"Yes," he said, "Do continue." Erestor sent him a strange look, before shrugging.

"Where was I...? Ah, yes, here." He shook his head. "Gondor, it seems, suspects that Rohan might have something to do with the kidnappings, but, as we all know, that is false. The last time Mithrandir was here, he mentioned the fact that Théoden was hardly acting like himself, and was not associating with his people much. Even so, I do not believe that he would be capable of such...horrid deeds."

Glorfindel nodded.

"Aye, Théoden son of Thengel would not stoop so low. Besides, he has no need for slave trading." He tilted his head to a side. "Who do you think is responsible...?"

Erestor said nothing for a while, as he stared hard at the parchment in front of him.

"Well," he said, slowly. "I suppose you could say that Men are responsible, for, who else can kidnap the youth of Gondor and smuggle them out of the city?"

"But...?" pressed Glorfindel, listening intently to his friend. Erestor sighed.

"There is a missing link somewhere," he said. "Why would _any_ slave trader require such a large amount of slaves? The Haradrim already have their fair share and _more_ of illegal slaves, and the Easterlings...well, I do not see why they would wish to have more slaves than they already have. Besides, it is the nature of the Easterlings and the Wild Men to _kill_ those in their captivity..."

Glorfindel nodded, although there was a slightly confused expression on his face.

"What are you trying to say, Erestor?" he asked, after a while.

"This is no mere...issue of slave trading," said the dark-haired Elf. "There is something more to it. I would like to know where these 'slaves' are being taken; for I do not believe that their final destination is Harad, or any of the dwellings of Men."

"You think there is something more to it," mused Glorfindel. His light eyes narrowed. "...Are you implying that Sauron-"

"-That _is_ possible," admitted Erestor, "but no, I do not...I am not sure if he is _directly_ involved, for he is much too weak to be doing that at this very moment."

Glorfindel frowned.

"You have successfully confused me, mellon-nin," he said, as he rubbed the sides of his head, remembering his earlier confusing conversation with Elrond. "Honestly, is it 'let us all confuse Glorfindel' day today?"

Erestor raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. "If you do not believe that the recent kidnappings have been carried out by slave traders _or_ by...Sauron himself, then who do you think is responsible?"

"Have you ever wondered, Glorfindel, of what the _Avari_ have been up to, these last few Ages?" Normally, Erestor would have been amused at the way Glorfindel's eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing into his hairline.

"The Avari?!" exclaimed Glorfindel. "Erestor, _what_ in Eru's name made you think of _them_?"

"Why not?"

"They have not seen the light of Valinor, that is true, but I do not believe that they would have turned to evil." Glorfindel shook his head. "I know not _where_ exactly their realms are, but they are known to wander across the wide lands, far from the sea, having no contact with the rest of the Eldar."

Erestor nodded.

"That is true," he agreed. "But mayhap you have not yet heard of the ancient reports of Mirkwood?"

"Mirkwood?"

"Aye. For before, in Oropher's time and when his kingdom was rightfully called Greenwood, some of his...scouts noticed that there were signs of other life in the edges of the forests, closer to the river."

"I have heard of this," said Glorfindel, "but...I thought it was decided that it was Sauron's servants, trying to enter the Woodland Realm."

Erestor nodded once more, before absently brushing a few strands of his dark hair from his face.

"There was one report, one isolated report, made by Calenaglar, the 2nd in command of Oropher's scouts." He paused. "Calenaglar mentioned that...there were some...rather _Elven_ elements to the things that they saw-"

"-Could it not be possible that he had mistaken the tracks of one of the Sindar themselves?" Erestor shot him a strange look.

"The Wood Elves, Glorfindel, are the best trackers amongst the Elves of Middle Earth." Glorfindel nodded, sighing. "Besides, he wrote in his report that they had found a number of cloaks and a few swords."

"What?"

"The cloaks," continued Erestor, ignoring his friend's interruption, "were embroidered with images of the stars; of Carnil and Luinil, Nénar and Lumbar and of Alcarinquë and Elemmírë; the stars wrought by Varda Elentári to herald the Awakening of the Firstborn. Who else but those of our kind could have done such a thing, Glorfindel? For even now, in this Age, there are very few Elves who remember the tales passed down from generation to generation in their families, about the Awakening of the Elder children of Ilúvatar, and how the Elves grew to love the stars of Varda."

Glorfindel was looking more and more troubled as his friend spoke. "And their swords, although keen and light as our swords would be, bore strange carvings on their hilts and sheaths."

"What were the carvings of?" asked Glorfindel, wondering why he dreaded the answer.

"Grond." A tense silence fell amongst the two friends as Erestor uttered the name, the name that _none_ of the Elves would ever forget, even if they had not been in existence at the time the name was first made known to the world.

"Grond?" echoed Glorfindel. Erestor nodded, a grave expression on his face. "The...Hammer of the Underworld. Morgoth's great mace, known particularly well to Fingolfin..."

Glorfindel suddenly felt...sick. "This report that you speak of, where is it now? Would it be in the vaults of Thranduil in Mirkwood?"

Erestor shook his head.

"Nay." He saw the expectant expression on his friend's face and shook his head once more. "It is not here in Imladris either."

"Then where is it?" questioned Glorfindel.

"It was destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Glorfindel's eyes widened. "Why on _earth_ was it destroyed? It was an important report, was it not? Who would be foolish enough to---"

"Oropher's advisors." Erestor understood the stunned expression on his friend's face; he too had felt the same when he had heard of what had happened. "They felt that the people of Greenwood would...panic, if they were to find that the Avari had indeed, by the looks of things, forsaken the side of good. They wanted to protect their people."

"So, Oropher just _let_ them destroy the report?" hissed Glorfindel. Erestor shook his head.

"Nay, Oropher never got the chance to set his eyes upon the report. It was destroyed before it reached him."

"How do you know this...?" Erestor smiled.

"If you remember correctly, I am part Noldor, part Sindar," he said. "Calenaglar was the son of my mother's brother –my mother being of the Sindar. He was my cousin."

Glorfindel said nothing for a few moments.

"Why did he not re-write the report?" A brief flash of emotion passed across Erestor's face.

"He was sent out to Lindon, with a message to Cirdan and Gil-galad, soon afterwards. His troop was attacked on the way." Dark eyes narrowed. "He passed on while being treated by Gil-galad's Healers. I was there, Glorfindel, in his last moments. He felt it important to tell _someone_ about it, and he did. He passed on shortly afterwards."

"Ai, I am sorry," said Glorfindel, truthfully, as he bowed his head.

"He led a good life," was all that Erestor said.

"Does Elrond know of this...report?" Erestor nodded his head.

"Aye, he does," he said, "and he would have liked to send messengers to Oropher, informing him of it all, but at the time, it was not possible to spare the Elves needed." He paused.

"And Oropher was not really on very good terms with the Noldor, was he? He would not have taken your word for it, even though you are part Sindar yourself." Erestor shook his head. Glorfindel leaned back in his chair. "This is not good news, Erestor. If, as you say, the Avari have forsaken the side of good...what does this mean? Does this mean that they have sworn their allegiance to Sauron?"

"Judging from what Calenaglar witnessed, the presence of the carving of Grond on the sheaths of the swords tells me rather that...they have sworn their allegiance to Morgoth."

Glorfindel nodded.

"Aye, but since he is imprisoned in the Void, and watched over by the Valar, is it not safe to assume that they would have sworn their allegiance to Sauron at some point in the last Age?"

"That is possible..." agreed Erestor, before letting out a long sigh. "But we cannot be certain, Glorfindel. There are a great number of possibilities, and while it is important not to lightly rule them all out, it is impossible to ascertain the truth, is it not?"

"True, but still there---" He was interrupted by a dark-haired Elf who ran into Erestor's office. "Lindir, whatever is the matter?" asked Glorfindel, as he saw the troubled expression on the Elf's face.

"The second patrol is returning, my lord," answered Lindir. "They seem to have suffered some kind of attack, for the scouts have sent word that their numbers are less than when they set out."

Glorfindel was out of his seat and out of the office in a flash, all thoughts of his conversation with Erestor pushed to the back of his mind as he ran.

Exchanging startled glances, Erestor and Lindir followed him, at a slightly more sedate pace.

* * *

**A little while later:**

There were anxious expressions on the faces of Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir, as they awaited the arrival of the second patrol in the courtyard of the refuge. They did not have to wait long, for soon, horses galloped into the courtyard, breathing heavily as they were called to a stop.

It did not take the gathered Elves long to notice that there were only eight of the twelve horses that had set out from Imladris; and that there were only nine of the original twelve Elves.

They did not have time to ponder on this, as Elladan jumped down from his horse, not even bothering to greet his father or friends, as he turned to his brother's horse, holding onto a cloaked figure as his brother dismounted.

"It is good to see that you have –"

"-Adar, there is no time for greetings. She is gravely wounded. You must see to her," cut in Elrohir, as he wearily followed his brother, who walked towards their father with the cloaked figure in his arms.

"Her?" asked Elrond, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Elrohir nodded.

"Yes, she-"

"-Adar, she has internal bleeding and is half-unconscious. The shock that kept the away the pain of her injuries is wearing off now, Adar."

Without another word, Elrond reached out and pulled the half-unconscious Elf into his arms. Nodding at his sons and the rest of the patrol, he spun on his heel.

"Glorfindel, Erestor, I would like the details of everything that has happened, as soon as possible. When you are done, come to the Healing Wing. Elladan, Elrohir, get some rest and then join me in the Healing Wing." With that, he walked briskly up the stairs, a sense of urgency in his posture as he moved out of sight.

* * *

**A few moments later:**

With a grim expression on his face, Elrond further ripped the tear in the dress that the Elf-maiden had on her; the tear that revealed the gash on her stomach. Judging from the way the cut-skin had crusted over, he knew that the wound was a few days old; at least four days old, if he wanted to be exact. It worried him that it still bled freely.

Using a clean strip of cloth to absorb the blood, he ran his hand over the cut, trying to feel if there was anything in it, thinking that there might be a piece of whatever weapon was used to make the cut. Finding nothing, he washed the wound out with fresh athelas water. The Elf did not move as he treated her injuries, for he had given her a pain-killer.

He knew that what his sons had said was right, that her shock had been wearing off and that, should she fall unconscious, it was possible that she would not wake again, yet, by the time he was treating her third gash, the shock had completely worn off, resulting in muffled screams and panicked writhing.

He had had no choice but to give her a concoction of pain-killer herbs, albeit knowing the risk he took in doing so, for a pain-killer of even the mildest strength, caused drowsiness.

Wrapping a bandage around the gash on her stomach, he glanced at her prone figure, taking note of the injuries she had on her arms and legs. Calling one of the female healers to him, he stepped away from the bed.

"I will be outside for a moment, please change her out of that dress and into one of the healing-wing gowns," he said, moving towards the doors.

"But...my lord, her other injuries...?"

"I have seen to most of her injuries, but I would much rather she get out of...what remains of her dress before the blood dries up, and before the cloth sticks to her bruised skin. I can deal with her other injuries once you are done."

A few moments later, he was ushered back into the healing wing, and found the prone Elf-maiden dressed in the simple, pale yellow gown that patients in the healing wing usually wore. Rolling up the sleeves of the gown, Elrond cleaned up the wounds on her arms, and repeated the process for the wounds on her legs, noting that she was _far_ too thin for one of her height.

_Ai, it is a wonder that she has survived so much...with such large amounts of blood loss._ A wave of anger flashed across his face. _What kind of vile creature would do this to a young maiden?_

Grabbing a clean strip of cloth, Elrond dipped it into the bowl of fresh, warm water, before gently moving it over the Elf's blood-covered face. He saw that she had a few cuts on her face, but they were not deep and would heal without leaving a scar as time went on.

When the blood was cleaned off her face, the Half-Elven lord was allowed his first glimpse of the Elf-maiden's face.

And his eyes widened, first with fear, then with a sense of familiarity. For he _knew_ this face, with its high cheek bones, sticking out prominently –probably as a result of malnutrition; he _knew_ the pale red, cracked lips and the elegant button nose.

_Ai Elbereth! It was her, I am sure that it was her that I saw in my...vision. She bore a likeness to Arwen and yet, was also quite unlike her. _

Grey eyes narrowed in thought. What did this mean?

* * *

**A/N**

Well, that was a bit longer than the previous chapter, but I didn't want to stop this at any other point. Heh, hope that was interesting!

Until the next chapter!

Siriusgirl1


	3. Not built for slavery

A/N

Here's chapter two! Urgh, I have no idea why, but each chapter I write seems to be getting longer and longer...and I am truly sorry about that, because I can guess how hard it must be to keep reading on. But I've made up my mind that, from the next chapter onward, things will be shorter than this chapter and a bit shorter than the last.

Weeelll...that's about it from me for now. Hope you enjoy this too.

**Kim:** Hmm...sorry about that. I'll certainly go back and change it as soon as I can. Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

**Disclaimer: **It's all Tolkien's, remember?

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Two:**** Not built for slavery**

"Calm down, you are merely overreacting," said the tall, figure. "They will be here shortly."

"Nay, you know not what troubles me," said his companion, as he continued to pace up and down the small, poorly lit room. "This…delivery of theirs, there is just something about it that…makes me wonder…"

"That makes you wonder…?" prompted his taller companion.

"The lineage." There was a brief moment of silence.

"What would the lineage matter? At least, to us and our…plans?" He shook his head. "You overreact; the delivery will be just another poor, unfortunate soul who has been so tortured and humiliated that he will be easy to bend, to our will."

He smiled, although there was nothing pleasant about it. "He will join our cause, and we will gradually, _gradually_ grow in number." He laughed. "If only the _oh-so-noble_ Wise knew of just how much danger their beloved world is in…"

His slightly shorter companion shook his head.

"Let us not be hasty," he said, a warning note in his voice. "Besides, about this…delivery…what makes you think that it is a male?"

The taller figure was silent for a moment or two.

"I merely assumed…" He paused. "If it were _not_ a male, they would not be alive; they would have been disposed of long ago."

"Yet if it were a maiden, they would have kept her alive for…the 'entertainment' she could give them, and, at the end, when they are short of money, they would sell her to the highest bidder, in this case, to us."

"You are…serious about this?"

"Aye." There was a slight pause. "How would one of the Elves come to be in the captivity of Men as such, for such a long period of time? Or perhaps, the question should be; how is it that none of the _other_ Elves came out to rescue her from her captors?"

"Perhaps she was not important. Perhaps she was an outcast."

"Nay, that would not make sense. Being the _noble_ beings they are," spat out the shorter figure, "they would never leave one of their own to such torment and humiliation, even if they despised her."

"What are you thinking?"

"They did not know she was held captive." He paused once more. "Or perhaps they did not know of her _existence_."

He saw his taller companion's eyes glitter in the darkness of the room.

"Does that make…her –if you are correct- a valuable asset to us, or does that make her just another Elf for us to…recruit?"

"We will have to see, when she –and yes, I am sure that I am correct- is brought to us." He smiled.

"But we cannot let this distract us; we still have a fair amount of work to complete, before we will be able to…welcome Him."

"Aye, you are right there, my dear friend. But preparations have been going quite well, do you not think? If we keep this pace up, we will have time to…rest before we are required to welcome him."

"Gorthaur grows in power, steadily. Aye, we know what it is that he is after. If only we could spare the time to aid him in his task…" The tall figure sighed. "For how pleased would He be if we welcomed him _with_ His greatest servant?"

His shorter companion shrugged as he tugged at his beard.

"He would be pleased, I will not deny that, but this is Gorthaur's battle, not ours."

"But if we could get the Ring and hand it over to Him-"

"-He will have no purpose for the Ring, my friend, and you should know this. His aims are greater, _far_ greater than what the Ring can offer him, and it is our duty to aid him."

"_They_ will not remain aloof; once they get their first whiff of the rumour of His awakening, they will send out a force, as great as the _last_ one in the War of Wrath, and destroy him…"

"And imagine their surprise when they are met by a force as great as what they sent out, a force comprising mainly of their _own kind_!"

The taller companion nodded, before a grim expression passed quickly across his face.

"They will be involved in the battle too...our brethren, our...friends..."

"Brethren? Friends?" snorted the shorter figure. "Aye, they might have _appeared_ as our friends when we first set out, but they never intended to play the part of a friend. Curumo was too intent, too focused on finding out about Gorthaur's plans and work." He shook his head. "Aiwendil, foolish and simple-minded, was only concerned about carrying out the bidding of Yavanna Kementári. And Olórin...well, I have naught to say of him!"

"_He_ was genuine, though, at least for a while. 'Tis a pity that we will have to join the fight against them."

"My _dear_ Pallando, we have already joined the fight against them, with all our planning and our hard work." The shorter figure shook his head. "Do not worry yourself over the fates of our foes –yes, _foes_, for that _is_ what they are. We have other things to worry about. When did the Men say they will be here?"

"It will take them a while. The last I heard of them, they were busy hiding their tracks from the increased Elf patrols."

"Elves," snarled his companion. "I rue the day they were created! It matters not; _they_ will rue the day they were Awakened when He returns to us." He moved to the door. "Come, Pallando, we must go and check on our dear _recruits_."

* * *

Elrond was in his study, although this time, he was not seated at his desk. He stood before one of the arched windows, gazing out at the night skies with a pensive expression on his face. 

His searching grey eyes found Eärendil the Mariner, the one object in the sky he always turned to in times of trouble, hoping each time for some kind of guidance for, surely, Eärendil saw _more_ than any of the Wise on Middle Earth did, from his position up in the sky.

As he took in the brightly shining star, his mind wandered, as he wondered about the item that caused the star to shine brightly.

The Silmaril of Fëanor, son of Finwë and Míriel Serindë.

"Ai, I fear that nothing good will come of this," he muttered, to no one in particular. Having heard everything that his sons had had to say about the events that had befallen them, it had pained him to learn that it was _Men_ who had killed three Elves and brutally beaten a fourth.

Not just _any_ Men, but Men from Gondor, if the symbol that Elrohir had seen on the vest of one of the Men was accurate.

Old feelings made themselves known as Elrond pondered on the race of Men. Why had Elros felt the need to be counted among such a cruel, evil race? For Elros was not of like mind to them. How was it that Men such as Beren, Tuor and even _Turin _existed in the Histories of the Children of Ilúvatar, for they were Men of great courage and honour, never succumbing to Evil, not even Turin, for all his misfortune was brought upon him by a Lord of Evil?

And lastly, was he _really_ expected to allow his daughter, his dear daughter, to forsake her rightful immortality for one of the race of Men? For the Heir of Isildur, no less?

The light of Eärendil gave him no answer, causing him to sigh heavily. It was then that it happened, as he continued to gaze up at the skies.

_There were mountains__ of fire__ eerily res__embling Orodruin__...the tower of Barad-dû__r was present...as were the legions of fell creatures who had sworn their allegiance to the dark powers._

_A Man there was, holding up a gleaming sword as he stood outside the Gates of Mordor...a Man who l__ooked much like the ancient Nú__menoreans themselves...a Man all too familiar..._

_And then the scene changed._

_There were more towers this time, partly shielded by dark smoke, and guarded by winged beasts who circled the towers. There was a serious of gaping holes, rent into the earth...to form pits. Pits that were menacing to the eye; pits that hid the vile beings that were created in them. _

_A lone figure arose from the pits, radiating evil. He was clothed in glittering black,__ and carried in his hand a frightening weapon; a sinister looking hammer. Upon this figure's head, was a crown made of a silvery-black metal. And upon that crown were two brightly shining jewels._

_And suddenly there was...a family. A__ familiar__ dark-haired adult Elf stood with his two young sons, a smile on his face as he looked down at a dark-haired, pale faced Elf-maiden. Their attention seemed to be on the bundle in the Elf-maiden's arms. A...baby...? _

_There was a large number of Elves, in dark-coloured armour. A look at that was all that it took to confirm them to be of the Elven race but...their eyes glittered with malice and __cruelty_

_The scene shifted, to show the jewel-crowned figure once more, with his hammer raised; poised to attack. A moment later, the hammer was brought down..._

Elrond stepped hurriedly away from the window, feeling akin to being punched hard in the gut. His breaths came in quick gasps, and he soon found that he needed to sit down.

Stumbling to the nearest chair, he plopped down on it, heavily, and leaned forward with his head in his hands. If he had known that he looked far from the calm and collected Elf-lord he had the reputation of being, he would not have cared, as he focused on everything that he had...seen.

He had seen the fortress of Barad-dûr, and the minions of Sauron; of that he was sure. The Man he had seen...after years of having fostered him, it was not hard to place a name to his face.

But it was everything he had seen after that that troubled him.

He had been fortunate to have never stood before the towers and the pits that he had seen, for he had been but a child when they had still been standing. And when he had grown into adulthood, neither the great fortress of Angband _nor_ the dreaded pits of Utumno existed.

"Morgoth...that _was_ Morgoth..." The Half-Elven lord leaned back in the chair he was seated on, a grim and troubled expression on his face as he stared at nothing in particular. For that _was_ who the crowned figure he had seen was; Morgoth –as he was called by Fëanor, or otherwise known as Melkor, one of the greats amongst the Ainur.

As his thoughts moved to the Elves he had seen; the family and then the...army, he remembered why the dark-haired adult Elf had looked familiar. He had been slain in Eregion; _this_ the Peredhel knew for a fact, as he had been the one to see to his burial, amidst the ruin of his once prosperous dwelling.

_But the other Elves...they did not appear to be...normal. Their eyes, ai, were full of the malice and greed one would expect of those who have turned from the path of good..._

Grey eyes narrowed in thought. If that _was_-

"My lord? Lord Elrond...?" Effectively snapped out of his thoughts, he looked up hurriedly, in time to see the brunette Healer.

"What brings you here, Meluial?" he questioned, trying to keep his void devoid of any kind of emotion.

"She has woken up, my lord," answered Meluial.

* * *

Sensing a presence nearby, she opened her eyes, wincing as she found her vision hazy. It took her a long while for her eyes to focus, and when they did, the grey eyes widened as they landed on the silhouette of the tall figure. 

"I...I..." she closed her mouth as she heard the hoarseness of her voice, just as the itching started in her throat.

"Here," said the tall figure, "drink this. It will help with your throat." She stared vacantly at the goblet that was held out to her, and a surge of fear arose in her gut as she remembered the _last_ time she was offered something to drink.

"No," she said, hoarsely, grimacing as she shook her head only to feel great pain.

"It _will_ help with-" Elrond stopped, startled, as a heavily bandaged arm suddenly shot outward and slapped the goblet out of his hand. Stunned, he watched as the goblet fell to the ground, spilling its contents over its surface. Surprise clear on his face, he turned to the Elf and was once again caught off guard by the fierce, loathing expression on her face, even as she struggled to sit up.

"I...will _never_ drink one of your...one of your vile, disgusting...potions ever again," she hissed, her voice low and hoarse. Elrond moved closer to her as she continued to struggle to sit up. In the pale light that filtered into the large room through the windows, he could already see blood staining some of her bandages.

"No, you must not move," he said, quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder and wincing as she flinched at his touch. "You had a fair number of injuries, and they will re-open if you move."

"L...like you care..." said the grey-eyed Elf, hoarsely, but she eventually did as he told her and stopped moving. Elrond stared at her impassive face for a moment.

"I am Elrond, of Imladris," he said, feeling somewhat lame, but not wishing to talk of anything else with the clearly distraught Elf. "Do you have-" he stopped when he saw the look she gave him.

"E...Elrond?" she echoed, fear suddenly creeping into her eyes. "They...they sold me, then? To...you...?" Elrond's eyebrows shot up.

"Nay, little one," he said. "I am not a-"

"-Forgive me, M...Master Elrond..." stammered the Elf, hoarsely, even as her face paled. "I...I did not mean to be so...rude. I...I thought...I...I am sorry. Please...please do not hurt me..."

A feeling of great sorrow surged through the Half-Elven lord as he took in the genuinely frightened expression on the Elf's face, as she stared up at him. He could only imagine what she must have been through, to think that he was her master, and that he would hurt her for what he could only be described as a natural reaction for one who had been through everything _she_ had been through.

"I am no slave trader, little one," he said, seeing that she was nowhere near as old as he or some of the other Elves were. "I am Elrond Peredhel of the Elven refuge of Imladris." Seeing the frightened expression still on her face, he added, "I am not of the race of Men, little one. I am one of the Elves...the Firstborn..."

"Elf..."

Elrond nodded.

"Aye, Elf," he said, "Just as you are." He was relieved when, after a while, the frightened expression on the Elf's face started to fade.

"Peredhel...?"

"Aye, Peredhel," said Elrond, a little surprised.

"What...how?"

"My father, Eärendil, had the blood of the First and Secondborn in him," said Elrond, noticing that the impassive expression was back on her face. "As was my mother, Elwing." He saw the recognition that flickered in the grey eyes, similar to his own, at the mention of the name. "Does the name seem familiar to you?" he questioned, softly.

Her brows furrowed and she appeared as one in deep thought, as though she was trying her best to remember something.

"Díor Eluchíl..." she said, hoarsely, after a while. She frowned. "Eluréd and...Elurín..."

If he was confused, Elrond did not show it.

"Aye, Díor Eluchíl was my mother's father, and Eluréd and Elurín were her older brothers," he said. He watched as she raised a hand to her itching throat and quickly moved to the table that was by her bed. Taking out another goblet, he poured some water into it and held it out to her. "Here, drink, and the itching sensation will go away," he said. She stared at the goblet in his hand for a long time, and he did not press her further.

_Ai, they must have made her drink foul things indeed, for her to fear drinking anything given to her –even when it is for her own good. _

When she nodded her agreement at last, Elrond lifted her head, supporting it with his free hand as he tipped the goblet to her lips with his other. "Slow sips, little one, or you will choke..." She was only able to take three sips before she started coughing. Placing the goblet back on the table, Elrond whispered soothingly as her body wracked with coughs. "'Tis alright...there is nothing to fear...your body is not used to it, 'twill pass, 'tis alright..."

"Where...am I?" she managed to gasp out, once the coughs had settled.

"In Imladris," said Elrond, "The Elven refuge." He wondered at the wide-eyed expression that she sent him. "My sons brought you here, after finding you with a group of...slave traders. They fought them off and brought you here for you were greatly wounded and they feared for your life..."

"I-" the fearful expression was back on her pale face. "The Masters...?" Her voice rose in its pitch as she looked around her in fear. It took him a while to realize who she was talking about, and when he did realize, Elrond quickly clasped one of her hands in his own, noting how she flinched at the contact.

"They are not here. You have nothing to fear while you remain here," he said, as comfortingly as he could, even as he unconsciously wondered who the Elf reminded him of –apart from the likeness to his daughter. "They fled, but you have nothing to fear for while you are here in Imladris, you are under the protection of the Elves. You are under _my_ protection."

And then, just as suddenly as she had knocked the first goblet out of his hands, the dark-haired Elf burst into tears.

Elrond stared at her in dismay for the briefest of moments, before doing what anyone else would have done. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gently, slowly, pulled her up -noting that she did not struggle against him- and pulled her to him.

He stroked her head as her tears continued to fall, trying not to move her too much as he knew that her wounds would be aggravated. "'Tis alright, hush now...they will not hurt you again..."

When the last of the sobs had died down, and when he was sure that she was in a slightly _calmer_ frame of mind, Elrond held her away from him.

"What is your name?" The red-rimmed eyes widened slightly.

"Lass," she whispered, after a while. "...Lassie." Elrond's eyes narrowed.

"Those are not names," he said, an angry note entering his voice as he thought of her captors.

"I am sorry!" exclaimed the Elf, pulling away from him as she bowed her head, but not before he saw the grey eyes widen in fear. His expression softened.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," he said, softly. "But...those are not proper names; they are what one might call a female –usually of the race of Men." Obviously, slave traders would not use whatever names their captives already had. "What is your real name? The one given to you by your mother, or by your father?"

He watched as her brows furrowed once more, and waited patiently, although he had to wonder how it was possible for her to no remember her real name.

_How long was she in the 'care' of those slave traders?_

"I...do not know..." there was a semi-panicked note in her voice, causing Elrond to shake his head fervently.

"It does not matter. I am sure that you will remember you name in due time," he said, reassuringly. "'Tis not important at this point in time, my lady."

"I am no lady...I am a slave..."

"I do not know what your...captors told you, but believe me when I say this; _no_ daughter of the Firstborn...or son, for that matter, should be enslaved. We are a free people, and were not built for slavery."

He noticed too late that his tone had frightened her even more. "Ai, I did not mean to frighten you..." he said, softening his tone immediately. But it was too late; she would not look at him. "Where is your home?" asked Elrond, defeated. He saw her tense. "I need to know, so I can inform your mother and father."

"...He is...dead."

"Who is-" Elrond stopped. "I...am sorry," he said, quietly. "But...I will still need to know where your home is. Your mother must worry greatly for you-"

"-She is dead too." Elrond was not to be deterred.

"Do you have any other relatives? For I am sure that they-"

"...My two brothers were...captured...they were...we all served the Masters..." Elrond frowned. Two brothers? _Valar, they were all...captives of the slave traders. How is it possible that none were sent out, to look for them? This is an outrage! _

"What was the name of your father? Or even your mother?"

"...I was told...not to mention my sire's name..." Elrond's eyes narrowed. _Something is not right here..._ "Naneth...she was called Fíriel..." A quick mental run-through confirmed Elrond's initial thought; he knew of no Elf by that name.

Of course, there were a fair number of Elves in the other Elven realms that he knew naught of, but the grey-eyed Elf...well, something about her told Elrond that he should know where she came from, and who her family was.

He sighed. This was going to be a bit difficult, but he did need to know if she had any kin who would worry at her disappearance. _If they are worried, they certainly have a strange way of showing it._

"Do you know the name of your grandfather? Nay, I do not mean the sire of your _father_," he said hurriedly, "I mean your mother's sire."

The Elf nodded, but soon stopped as she raised a hand to the bandage on her stomach, letting out a small whimper as she touched it. Looking down, Elrond saw the blood stain on the yellow robe, and knew that he would soon have to change the bandages. He also knew that it would be unwise to do it now, when she was awake –he would try and spare her the pain of the wound being seen to, if he could.

He stood up and pressed his hands lightly onto her shoulders. "No matter," he said, shaking his head. "You have just woken up, and your injuries still need time to heal. I should not be questioning you in this manner –I am the one at fault, for you need your sleep."

When she was lying down once more, he drew the covers around her, giving her a somewhat tired smile as she looked at him, the impassive expression back on her face. "Sleep well, little one," he said, as he turned around to walk away, intending to ask Meluial to watch over her once more.

"Elurín..." Hearing the hoarse whisper, Elrond stopped in his tracks. "Elurín...was my grandfather..."

* * *

**A/N**

Phew! Again, that was LONG! Hehe, sorry to leave it at such an...abrupt point, though!

Till next time!

Siriusgirl1


	4. Descendent of the Kinslayers

**A/N**

Here's another chapter! Longer than the last (I have given up with my issue with length. It's just not working), and with more information. I also wanted to tell everyone that I'll be away for four days, and I'm not sure if I will be able to get my hands on a computer during that time. That means that the next update will probably be in about 5 days. Hope that's alright with everyone!

**Kaytee: **Thanks for the review! Hmm...no, she is not Elrond's cousin, but don't worry, it's explained in this chapter. (But those were some close guesses...close, but not quite). Hehe, hope this chapter answers some of your questions.

**Celegorm Fëanorion: **Hehe, I loved your review! Yup, that is exactly why your servants left Dior's sons to die! Lol. Er...but don't kill me for not letting them die when they were expected to die. Hehe.

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to JRR Tolkien...I'm sure I've said this before...?

* * *

**Chapter Three:**** Descendent of the Kinslayers**

"Elurín?" echoed Glorfindel, his light blue eyes wide as he stared at the dark-haired Elf lord. "As in…_Elurín_…?" Elrond sent his friend a somewhat exasperated glance.

"Aye, Glorfindel, _Elurín_," he confirmed. There was a brief silence in the study, as Elrond continued to gaze thoughtfully out of the window, and as Glorfindel stared ahead of him, a troubled expression on his usually fair face.

"…Díor…_his_ Elurín…" Elrond said nothing for a while, causing his light haired friend to tilt his head to a side and send him a questioning glance. "Peredhel?"

Elrond turned to face him.

"We…do not know for certain. For all we know, it could be an Elf, by the name of Elurín, from one of the Woodland Realms. For all we know, it could be an Elf by the name of Elurín, who dwells in the Grey Havens –"

"-Aye, and for all we know it could be an Elf by the name of Elurín who was supposed to have perished, along with his brother Eluréd, when Menegroth was sacked by the sons of Fëanor," cut in Glorfindel, raising his eyebrows at the hard look the Half-Elven lord sent him. "Elrond, you cannot hide from the obvious truth; aye, I will admit, the idea that there are other Elves by the same name _is_ plausible…but we both know that that is not the case here."

Glorfindel shook his head, not once breaking his friend's gaze. "The names Eluréd and Elurín were not given to any son of the Firstborn, after the cruel end that the sons of Díor Eluchíl met. You _know_ this, for, you yourself had half a mind to name Elladan and Elrohir after your two deceased uncles, but decided against it for you feared your sons meeting the same…end that they did."

"That is true, but mayhap-"

"-Why is it that you are intent on refusing to believe that she is the granddaughter of Elurín?" cut in Glorfindel once more, as he pleasantly ignored the glare Elrond sent his way for interrupting him.

"I am not intent on…" Elrond's voice trailed off as he sighed. "'Tis just, mellon-nin, I…fear what this could mean. The line of Díor, the line of Thingol, has continued...and...and we did not _know_ of this."

Glorfindel frowned.

"Peredhel, I am not sure if I understand where you are going with this..." he admitted.

"Glorfindel, how much must they have suffered? The sons of Díor? The accounts of Maedhros...describe how he had searched high and low in the forests, but could not find them, although he saw a few scraps of their clothes, along with blood, as he caught sight of one of the packs of wolves that roamed the forests after the Girdle of Melian was withdrawn."

Elrond shook his head. "He thought they were dead, Glorfindel, and left them. But...they survived. How? And...where would they have gone, for as far as the account of Maedhros tells us, the servants of Celegorm only chased Eluréd and Elurín into the wilderness; not any else of that house. Where then, would Elurín have found his...wife? _How_ would he have found his wife?"

A hardened expression appeared on the light-haired Elf's face.

"The...accounts of Maedhros that you so...faithfully refer to," he started, the disgust barely evident in his voice, "Tell me, Peredhel, how can you be certain that they speak the truth? For all we know, Maedhros Fëanorion saw the sons of Díor in the wild, but left them to suffer anyway."

"Glorfindel, you _know_, that of all the sons of Fëanor, Maedhros was perhaps one of the –"

"-No, Peredhel, I _do not_ know," interrupted Glorfindel, his face dark. "I _do_ know, however, the many scores of the Eldar who perished in the first Kinslaying; I _do_ know how Fëanor and his sons took the ships, and then _burnt_ them, leaving us effectively stranded. And _how_ we suffered after that! King Turgon lost his beloved wife, and I lost many friends as well...and then, the attack on Elwing and the remnants of the people of Gondolin and Doriath. Peredhel, _you_ should know of this better than _I_ do..."

Elrond stared impassively at his friend for a long while.

"Aye, I do know of that particular attack," he said, his voice tight. "And I know, better than _you_ do, Glorfindel, how kind the hearts of Maedhros and Maglor remained, despite the Oath they swore and despite all the carnage they had caused and witnessed."

His grey eyes narrowed. "If you are suggesting that Maedhros is not to be trusted, then you are also saying that _I_ am not to be trusted-"

"-He did not raise you, Peredhel, Maglor did. And of Maglor, even though he _was_ one of them, I...bear ill-will towards him."

"Maedhros aided his brother in raising us," said Elrond, referring, of course, to him and his brother Elros. "Both he and Maglor are more or less the same, to me. I ask you to let go of these old prejudices, Glorfindel, for they do nothing except to cloud your usually clear and accurate judgement."

Defiant light blue eyes met impassive grey, as Glorfindel raised his chin somewhat.

"You were not there, Eärendilion," he said, quietly. "You were not there..." And just like that, a haunted expression found itself into his light eyes. "There were so many casualties...so many tears..." He paused. "I lost my sister while crossing the Helcaraxë, Elrond. She had long admired Maedhros Fëanorion, and would not remain behind in Aman at my bidding. She took on the journey, for _him_, and met her end when he, his brethren and his father betrayed us all."

He shook his head. "Do not expect me to entertain the thought of...thinking well of the sons of Fëanor, Peredhel, for it is difficult. Their blood is cursed...and cursed also was the blood of Celebrimbor. 'Tis a relief for the Elves that there are none with the accursed blood in their veins anymore."

There was a sorrowful expression on Elrond's face as he watched his friend lower his head. He sometimes wished that the Valar had _not_ given back the light haired Elf lord's memories. Aye, he knew that the memories were a part of the reincarnated Elf, but sometimes...sometimes he felt that they caused him more pain than was necessary.

"I am sorry," he said, lowering his grey eyes. _But there will come a time, mellon-nin, when you will have to choose between holding onto your...hate, and letting it go. I only pray that you choose wisely. _

* * *

"My good lords! What do you think you are doing?" exclaimed Meluial, as she entered the healing wing to see the twin sons of Elrond, rather comically, making their way towards the bed by the large window. 

"Lady Meluial," said Elladan, smoothly, once he and his brother had spun around in surprise. "What a wonderfully bright and cheery day it is today, do you not think? The birds are chirping, the sun is shining-"

"-and the wind is blowing and the grass is swaying and flowers are blooming," cut in Meluial, placing her hands on her hips. "You have not answered my question, Elrondion."

Elrohir sighed.

"We merely wished to see how...she was faring," he said, gesturing towards the prone figure on the bed. "We wished to see if she was awake yet..."

Meluial's fierce expression softened somewhat, as she glanced at the younger twin.

"She regained consciousness last night," she said, smiling inwardly as the brothers' eyebrows shot up.

"What?"

"Why were we not informed of this?"

"You might want to ask your father about that, my lords," she said. "He saw to her last night. She has not woken since then." By now, she had reached the bed and the twins, and, moving over so that she was standing at the other side of the bed, she sighed as she stared down at the slumbering Elf. "She must have been through a terrible ordeal..."

Elrohir nodded.

"Aye," he agreed, distantly, as he remembered watching what the Men did to her, before they had intervened. "I shudder to think how long she would have been in their...care."

"Her eyes are closed..." mused Elladan. "How long will she sleep in this manner?" Meluial shrugged.

"Until she has regained her full strength," she said, reaching out and brushing a few strands of hair from the sleeping Elf's face. "She is...quite pretty, is she not?"

The twins nodded.

"She looks somewhat like Arwen..." added Elrohir.

"Aye," Meluial paused. "Somewhat." She looked up at the twins. "Do you know her name?" Elladan and Elrohir shook their heads.

"Nay, when we finally saved her, she was in no condition to...carry on a conversation," said Elladan, quietly. Meluial nodded.

"'Tis a cruel Age that we live in..." she murmured, before dropping her hand to her side. "I trust that you two will behave in a responsible manner?"

"_Meluial_-" started Elladan, an indignant expression on his face.

"-You will not try to wake her before she is ready...?"

"-Do we look like we would-"

"-Lord Elrohir?" Elrohir shook his head, a smile forming on his face as he watched his brother's indignant face.

"Nay, Meluial, we will not. She will not even know we are here." Nodding, the brunette healer moved away.

"If she wakes, send word to your father. He will be familiar to her, and it will...calm her down, somewhat." With a last warning look in the twins' direction, she left the healing wing.

"Does she _really_ think we would cause trouble in the _healing wing_?" questioned Elladan, looking surprised. Elrohir shrugged, as his eyes caught sight of the dark stain on the left sleeve of the robe that the sleeping Elf wore.

"Her wounds...seem to be bleeding freely," he commented, frowning slightly.

"You are surprised?" Elladan shook his head. "They were untreated and continually reopened, Elrohir, it will take some time for them to stop bleeding freely."

Elrohir said nothing in reply, as he gingerly reached out to place his arm over the blood-stained area.

"But her bandages should be changed, and the wound cleaned, lest infection-" He stopped, startled, as he found himself staring at a pair of unfocused grey eyes. "You are awake," he said, a small smile forming on his face. "How do you feel?"

The grey eyes took a while to refocus, and when they did, they found themselves staring at a...somewhat familiar Elf.

"...Sore..." she whispered, hoarsely. Elrohir nodded.

"Aye, you will continue to feel that way until you are healed, I am afraid," he said, almost apologetically, as his brother filled a goblet with water from the pitcher and handed it to him. "Do you feel up to drinking this? Just a few quick sips to soothe you throat."

"Master E...lrond?" Elladan shook his head, smiling.

"Nay, he is not here at the moment," he said, watching as a fearful expression found itself on the Elf's pale face. "But we can get him for you if you would-"

He caught the goblet as it was slapped out of Elrohir's hands, although he could not catch it properly, and as a result was drenched with the water in it. "-What in the _world_-?"

"Get...away...f-from me..." she hissed, although there was no real _malice_ in her tone. She tried to curl herself up into a ball, but Elrohir reached out to stop her.

"No," he said, feeling her tense under his touch. "No, you must not do that...it will only serve to aggravate your-"

"-_Please_, leave...me alone. Have...have you not done enough...?" Elladan and Elrohir exchanged confused glances.

"We have done nothing to harm you, my lady," said Elladan. "We only-"

"-I...am no lady," gasped the dark-haired Elf, even as a pained haze entered her grey eyes. "You _know_ this..."

"My lady-"

"-Elrohir, stay here. I am going to get Adar," cut in Elladan, a concerned expression on his face. "Do not do anything to...surprise her; no sudden actions or anything of the sort. I am guessing that she thinks we are the slave traders, and we intend to harm her."

"But that is preposterous!"

"Aye, but...she does not know it. I will be back soon." With that, he dashed out of the healing wing, hoping against hope that his father would be in his study, as usual.

Elrohir turned back to the clearly frightened Elf.

"My lady, I do not intend to harm you..." he said, as soothingly as he could. "You are injured, and I do not want you to reopen your wounds. Please-"

"-I know what...you want. Have you not done enough...?" The Elf stared vulnerably at him. "Lómënár, you...did something to him..." Her voice trembled as she mentioned the name. "A-and you killed Lómëlin..."

Elrohir shook his head slowly, even as he pondered on the names.

"Nay, my lady, I am...sorry, but I do not know what you are-"

"-And Naneth too...p-please, leave me alone..."

"I did not...my lady, I do not-" Elrohir was caught off guard as the Elf struggled, apparently trying to get as far away from him as she could. "My lady!" he exclaimed, now extremely worried. "Please, your wounds –you will only-" A stinging slap to the side of his face stopped him, and he gaped at the frightened Elf, who looked just as stunned as he did.

It was at that moment that Elrond hurried into the room, Elladan and Glorfindel at his heels.

"Elrohir what-" the Half-Elven stopped short as he took in the scene before him; his son holding his cheek in surprise, and the Elf, looking frazzled and frightened holding the hand she had slapped him with.

"I am sorry...I am so sorry..." cried the Elf, as she tried to move further away from the stunned Elrohir, only to find that she was already at the edge of the bed. "M-Master...I did not mean...please, do not h-hurt me..."

Elrond was by her side in a flash, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and not moving away as she flinched. Her head whipped around, and grey eyes met an almost identical pair. "M...Master Elrond...?"

"Yes, little one," said Elrond, calmly.

"Master I...did not mean to-" she broke off, gesturing at Elrohir. "-Please, please do not let him hurt me...please...?"

Glorfindel, standing beside Elladan, drew in a quick, sharp breath as he watched and listened to the dark-haired Elf-maiden. The fear in her eyes and in her voice was all too clear, and it stung him.

"My child, he will not hurt you," said Elrond, comfortingly. "He would never hurt you." But the Elf would not be reassured.

"He...he said that the...the last time, but...but he...they still...continued..." Glorfindel found that he could not watch the scene, for it pained him so. Glancing at Elladan, he found the same torn expression on the dark-haired Elf's face. "Then...when Lómëlin tried to...to help me, they...they killed him..." A lone tear trailed down her pale cheek. "And...Lómënár was...was taken away..."

Glorfindel shook his head. No one should have had to been through what _she_ had been through, and then be reduced to...this. It was not right.

"Little one, look at me," ordered Elrond, firmly yet gently. It took a moment, but the Elf found herself doing as he asked. "Do you remember who I am?"

"Master Elrond."

The Half-Elven lord winced at the use of the word 'Master', but said nothing.

"Do you remember where you are?"

"...I...with Elves?" Elrond nodded encouragingly.

"Aye, in the Elven refuge of Imladris," he said, reminding her of what he had told her the night before. "And what did I tell you about your safety?"

The Elf frowned.

"...I am...under your protection...?"

"Aye," said Elrond, relieved. "If you are under my protection, will I, or any other of my House, allow any harm to come to you?" The Elf shook her head, looking very much like a vulnerable child. "Would my sons hurt you?"

"...No..." Elrond nodded at Elrohir.

"That, little one, is my second son, Elrohir," he said, glad when Elrohir merely offered her a smile, instead of moving towards her, lest he frighten her. He directed her attention to the foot of the bed. "And that is my eldest son, Elladan."

"...They...look-"

"-Alike?" Elrond smiled. "They are twins, my child."

"Like Lómënár and Lómëlin..." Elrond said nothing to that, although he had a hunch as to who she was referring to.

"And that is my dear friend, Glorfindel," he said, nodding at the light-haired Elf, who did not offer the Elf-maiden a smile. Elrond did not fail to notice how she stared at Glorfindel a touch longer than she had stared at his sons.

"Pretty..." As Elrond's brows furrowed in puzzlement, Elladan and Elrohir –realizing what she had meant- found wide grins forming on their faces.

And Glorfindel fought the colour that threatened to spread across his face.

"Pretty?" echoed Elrond turning to the Elf and noting the childlike fascinated expression on her face. The Elf lifted a shaky arm to point at Glorfindel, who was mortified when he saw the amused expression flash across the Half-Elven lord's face. "Ah," he said, eloquently. "Glorfindel, come here will you?"

The light-haired Elf stood where he was, his eyes widening slightly as he silently pleaded with Elrond. "Glorfindel," said Elrond, sending him a pointed glare. He had an actual purpose in asking Glorfindel to step forward, not just to embarrass him.

The dark-haired Elf had not seemed frightened of Glorfindel, like she had been of Elrohir –he winced as he saw the bright red mark on his son's face- or Elladan. Surely that was a good thing?

Heaving a defeated sigh, Glorfindel stepped up beside Elrohir, sending Elrond a glare over the top of the Elf-maiden's head.

"I do not think-" Glorfindel stopped, surprised, as he watched an unsteady arm reach out towards him. A moment later, the Elf-maiden held onto a fistful of his hair, staring unblinkingly at it. "...My lady, what-"

"It...shines..." said the Elf, solemnly.

"...It shines?" Glorfindel sighed as he felt Elrond's glare on him. "Aye," he said, adopting a conversational tone. _Let us stay here all day discussing my 'pretty' and 'shiny' hair, shall we?_ "It does."

Elrohir was surprised to find a pair of wary grey eyes focusing on him, as Glorfindel's hair was released from the Elf's grip.

"I am sorry..." He shook his head.

"Nay, there is no need to be sorry," he said, smiling gently at her. "You were frightened; I can understand that."

"Elladan and Elrohir saved you from your captors, little one," added Elrond, watching as she stared at Elladan and then at Elrohir, with her brows furrowed.

"...Thank you..." There was a relieved expression on Elladan's face as he shook his head.

"There is no need to thank us, my lady," he said. "And you need not worry about the Men; they will never trouble you again."

Elrond did a quick run through of the Elf's body as her eyes were on his sons, and was not surprised to see that quite a few of her wounds had opened up; _again_. But they did not look too bad; he could clean them up later, preferably when she was asleep and would not feel much.

He pulled her rumpled sheets up and placed them around her shoulders, knowing how chilly it could get at that time of the year. He heard the voices as his fingers came into contact with her skin.

_"No! You must leave here, at once. He will be here soon, I can feel it. You must leave, with the children, before he comes." _

_"I will not leave you to die! Why...why can we not remain here? Surely you will be able to defend-"_

_"-We cannot be certain. His wrath is great; he will destroy everything in his part until he lays his hands on the three Elven Rings."_

_"But they are not here!"_

_"Aye, and his wrath will be greater__ when he finds that I have sent them away already__. Please, Fíriel Eluríniel...I would not ask this of you any other time. Our children, they are the last of my line.__ Let there at least be three__ of the blood of Fëanor, who are not corrupted and troubled__ by the lust for greed and action that consumed their ancestors. For the blood of Tinúviel runs within them, and she did not fall prey to lust of the Silmaril. Please."_

_"Celebrimbor-"_

_"-Do it! Take Lómënár, Lómëlin and Lómëriel with you. Especially Lómëriel, for I shudder to think what they would do to her, as she grows older in captivity. I sense a different destiny in store for the great-great-granddaughter of Lúthien. Go, Fíriel!"_

As the voices died out, Elrond found four pairs of eyes staring at him, different emotions within them as they took in the heavily-breathing Half-Elven lord.

Elrond brushed aside his sons' and Glorfindel's concerned queries, and turned his grey eyes instead on the wary Elf maiden.

"Lómënár and Lómëlin," he started, making sure he had control over his voice. "They are...your brothers?" The Elf nodded, a pained expression swiftly crossing her face.

"They..._were_ my brothers...yes."

"Lómëriel..." The Elf's grey eyes widened as she stared at Elrond.

"How...how did you...?" Elrond did not answer her.

"Who was your sire, Lómëriel?" he questioned, an urgent note entering his voice. She averted her gaze.

"Naneth...told me never to speak of him..."

"Did she tell you why?"

"She...did not get the chance..." Elrond's face was a peculiar shade of...white.

"Was your father Celebrimbor?" He sensed the tense silence in the room at the mention of the name. "Lómëriel, was your father Celebrimbor?"

"I...know that my father was called...Celebrimbor," whispered the dark-haired Elf. "Celebrimbor Curufinion." There was two, barely audible gasps as Elladan and Elrohir stared from the Elf to their father, their brows furrowed.

Elrond's shoulders slumped, as he recalled the image he had seen of Celebrimbor with two young sons, staring down at his wife and the bundle in her arms.

_Ai, this is interesting indeed; the daughter of Elurín marrying the nephew of the ones who...destroyed her father's home and family?_

_The Silmaril...'twas her holding the Silmaril, I am certain. Ai, 'tis not a good omen; if the blood of Fëanor runs in her veins, will she __be bound to the oath that his sons made to him? _

_Will she...be as doomed as the sons of Fëanor were?_

His grey eyes widened slightly as he remembered the conversation that he had had, earlier that morning, with his golden-haired friend. Turning to him, the Half-Elven lord's face fell as he saw his friend's face.

Glorfindel's light blue eyes were cold and were narrowed as they focused on the dark-haired Elf-maiden, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Glorfindel," he started. "We cannot –"

"-Accursed blood of Fëanor," said Glorfindel icily as the Elf turned to look at him, "what _more_ torment do you intend to put us through? What more carnage do you intend to cause?"

"Glorfindel-"

The golden-haired Elf shook his head.

"Just what the last of the Elves in Middle Earth needed," he hissed. "A remembrance of the one who caused the doom to be laid upon us; a descendant of the Kinslayers." He turned on his heel and strode briskly out of the room, leaving behind a pair of startled twins, a drowsily confused Elf-maiden and a troubled Half-Elven lord.

_Ai, Elbereth! What else does Fate have in store for us?_

* * *

**In Lothloríen:**

"Grandmother?" questioned Arwen, gently, as she saw the faraway, somewhat troubled expression on the golden-haired Elf's face. "Grandmother...? What is it?"

Galadríel snapped out of her...reverie when Arwen lightly touched her arm, and it took her a few moments to focus her light eyes on her granddaughter.

"Undomiel...I am sorry," she said, after a tense moment. She smiled. "I...was thinking."

"I could see that, grandmother," said Arwen, deep blue eyes twinkling as she looked at the Lady of Loríen. "Is everything alright?"

Galadríel did not answer right away.

"My dear, why don't you go to Haldir and see if the Imladris scouts left anything with him as they passed him and his troop? Mayhap your father...or even your brothers have sent you something?"

Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond, stared impassively at her grandmother for a long moment, noting instantly how she avoided her question.

"I do not think they would have sent me anything, not when I am expected to return to Imladris soon," she said, after a while. "But...I will check, in case."

Galadríel nodded, fighting to keep the smile on her face as her granddaughter bowed her head towards her and walked away. The moment she was out of sight, the smile disappeared from the golden-haired Elf's face, just as her face paled.

"Morgoth Bauglir..." she whispered, as a hand rose to her chest. "Nay, it...cannot be." Her light eyes were unfocused once more. "It was foretold that he would return at the end of the world, and the battle waged against him will permanently mar the world...In that battle shall fight Eärendil, and he will avenge what was done to him...but Bauglir...he will be dealt with by Túrin Turambar, for him he caused immeasurable grief. The world shall then be destroyed and made anew by Ilúvatar, and the Firstborn shall inhabit it once more..."

She stopped. "That was what was foretold...in the Circle of Doom, many, _many_ years ago." As the troubled expression darkened on her face, Galadríel could not help but wonder. "I know not when the 'end of the world' will be, but...I can safely say it will not be _now_; it will take place after the Dominion of Men has faded –if it is established at all."

She glanced down at the Elven ring on her finger. "Then why...did I see the return of Morgoth in such detail? If it is not to happen until centuries have passed...why have I seen it _now_?"

* * *

**A/N**

The end of another (longer) chapter! I hope that this is not getting too tiresome to read, or anything, but I have to first establish the OC; I have to get her introduced to people, and, of course, get her to stop being frightened of the Elves around her.

Hope _'The Silmarillion'_ lore hasn't confused anybody! The reason why I put this fic in the 'Lord of the Rings' category was because it takes place in the Third (and later in the Fourth) Age(s), and that would not fit in the 'Silmarillion' category.

Oh well, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I will see you in a few days!

Till next time!

Siriusgirl1


End file.
